Monday, 26 December 2016

Drama and Reality

If it makes me question myself, then there's some possibility to it. Would I be OK with falling in love with an Ajjusshi in real life? Shocking. But if the Ajjusshi was to act like a 20-year-old and still has his innocence about him, then I cannot see why I would not be attracted to him.


Korean dramas make even the most average looking Ajjusshi appear dashing. Dangerously so. After this, I wonder how many of us would fantasise a love life with an Ajjusshi.

I love the drama, mind you, or else I wouldn't be here thinking about the leading male character and the bubbly leading female. Despite the pleasure it brings me, certain themes and conventions are not what I can agree with. But what to do? People seem to like gobbling them up as they are, questioning nothing, even wishing a life like that for themselves. I'm not going to pretend that I don't want a tall, handsome Korean Oppa to pat my head and love me, but I'm not going to pretend that their every portrayal is fine either.

People like to dismiss me by saying "bah, it's just a show!" and I would like to ask them how is it that their brains could be so appallingly unreceptive, but I never because they're too proud. I suppose ignorance makes life as perfect as it is supposed to be.

Dramas do make my girlish heart flutter but my imagination has been dulled by my very real lover. He's all too realistic, sadly, and I love him dearly. I can no longer imagine myself with another Oppa because he'll always be there for me, like a huge tree looming over my existence. Not that I have anything to complain about. He's as sweet as any of them; taller too-- very much taller.

Sunday, 25 December 2016

A Little Optimism

University life is not that bad, even for a passionless subject such as myself. To think of the suffering that I go through each day battling my own mediation, it's all just too much thought. In reality, the only true hours of labour that I bother to clock in during my academic life is the week before an essay is due. Other times I spend rebelling the system to no avail while crying to my counselor.

After the storm, there is a fine thread of optimism that always shines through. At such moments, I can actually feel contented with what I have and think that my life is wonderful. Not often this happens, not often at all. When it does, I like to enjoy its brief happiness.

Many others are probably going through this phase of their lives without direction, forcefully, propelled by the expectations of both their families and societal norms. There are also those who, like a handful that I know of, are realising their dreams at university, venturing into fields they have a deep passion for. Perhaps I envy them, for having solid goals. They thrive on the will to succeed while I mostly just stay alive, unremarkably. I wonder if it is a sin to have no dreams of material possession? For that is what drives people nowadays to succeed. If it is not for wealth, then it is for nothing. Have I found out too soon that happiness does not depend on what you possess but who loves you? Mah. Coming from a family where my expenses are disposable, the economic superiority that allows a non-working lump of fat to attain whatever it fancies doesn't make me happy. Wealth makes life convenient, but never genuinely happy. Each time I shop, I feel gratified for 5 minutes, then the weight of negativity comes crashing down on me again.

I find it primitive when people think "how can she kill herself when she had such a good life?" regarding suicides of young, affluent females. Knock, knock, how many times does it need to be retold that wealth does not equal to happiness? Sure, she had a pretty face too, and you wanted that bag she carried-- it would have made you happy to be able to own such possessions, you think. Let us be honest, when you do own such an item, it'll just be in its dustbag in the depths of your closet.

This post is supposed to have a little optimism in it, yes...

On the peak of the rainbow's curve, I sit immersing myself into the foreign languages and cultures I am learning. They seem to be the only components of life I find worthwhile. My writing isn't all that bad either, is it? Hah.

Friday, 23 December 2016

Undisturbed Festivities

Festive season, is it? The croaks and chrips I hear each night remain neutral, lights are plain as any other season. If there is one difference, I suppose it is the frozen stagnation of life here now that everybody has gone home. Hours of the day curve before the valley, passing, glinting before my glazed eyes, leaving behind those who are congealed in the resin of perceived time.

Bells are singing jingles in my head and I think of red noses, brown antlers, and a home with a furnace surrounded by a flurry of winter air. If I listen close enough, I can hear the splintered logs burning out. All the hearty celebration yet what I yearn for is to hear nothing. It is supposed to be a silent night, is it not? 

That is past.

Now I want to share the warmth by the fire when it's freezing outside, but I wouldn't mind if you go with me to walk the dogs.

Time never stops those who revisit their memories. Maybe it should, for a more productive outcome.

In 10 years, I will tell you that wishes do come true, but for now, it is my reality that they do not. Only in retrospect can they be fulfilled.

Merry Christmas.

Monday, 19 December 2016

Desert Flame

An abundant desert, your tongue a parched patch of spent minerals. Dry, shrivelled and brittle, it stays suspended upon nothing of value, roots dissolving in a well of what was once worthwhile.

To burn what is already devoid of life is to set fire to the air, where only its flames, in all its glory, acknowledges itself.

Wednesday, 14 December 2016


この名前が大嫌い。六、どうして七と八が嫌いじゃありませか。それはあの女の名前ですから、大嫌い。あなたの友達ですか... 「と・も・だ・ち」だけ。可笑しいですね。



Haben Sie noch einen Wunsch?

Ja, geht. GEHT. 

Saturday, 10 December 2016

A Sweet and Sour Lunch

Of being in a committed relationship, I find that it dulls one's years as a blooming Spring flower-- not that I detest this stagnation of the crawling climax of my possibly long life, since the stability of mind of my significant other provides me with the rationality that I do not possess. But, excitement, is non-existent; at least in terms of raging adrenaline triggered by new experiences of interaction, or hanging off the edge of a cliff.

I saw a Schattig at lunch, the kind of demure male human I would want as a houseboy. Even his laugh echoed with the tremulous melody of a maiden, without the obnoxious snorts that prevail in hearty male laughter. I forget the details of his face because I'm not one to stare, but I remember nothing prominent, only the flowing outline of a bubble. His stature, unassuming; legs, undeniably thin, a faint resemblance to Pico, ぼくのピコ.

Would I have liked to have lunch with him, if he was alone. But as I separated my chicken from its thick bowl of sweet and sour sauce, I concluded that it would not have mattered if he was alone, for I am not a wild flower basking in the light, but one growing in a pot, carefully nurtured. The vinegar stung my senses but the sugar propelled me into a state of confusion-- is it sweet and sour or is it sour and sweet or is it more sour than it is sweet or is it more sweet than it is sour? But it doesn't matter, it was not meant to linger.

Now, I remember the conversation I had with Jor two days ago about why people cheat. He said it's about greed, but I think it is about the lack of fulfillment in one's relationship. In the end, it all boils down to the fact that we all just want what we do not and cannot have. So is it greed, or is it a lack of fulfillment?


As I watched him float towards his friends, I told myself: he's too cute to be straight anyway.

I continue to pick the meat out of the pool of sauce, with much distaste.

Thursday, 1 December 2016

A Headache and My Neck Hurts

Instead of being welcomed by the light, I only felt the veins in my head throb as my grip tightened. I was pretty sure I would explode.

But I didn't.

Instead, I have now a terrible headache and an aching neck, stiff. Who would think that a delicate ribbon could present itself to be a bringer of death? Maybe, I should try slurping it along with noodle soup.

On a day as hot and as bright, it just seems inappropriate to die. The tune of the birds doesn't harmonise with the scream from within, and the light outside cannot even begin to encroach upon the sacred darkness of enslavement. As bright and yellow and lime the interior of my cubicle is, I am colour-blind anyway.

That is why we should never attempt suicide, unless we know it is going to be a true success. Ah, but even being asleep for months in the hospital is better than staying awake in reality. Eventually, unconsciously, you won't even notice when you stop breathing. 

But if I were to be alive in my sleep and suffer the same fate, then how am I to know that the life I am living now is not a dream? And that I have already died, over and over, living in dreams among dreams among dreams. It hurts but I cannot wake up because I am already dead. I shall be reincarnated in my next dream.

Wednesday, 23 November 2016


Do you remember our childish dream of owning a café someday? I do. I still hold on to it. That dream of yours, is a dream we all share. When life becomes too much to bear, I go back to it. I see us together at a table, sheer curtains like waves beating upon the walls.

I can be happy like that.

Monday, 21 November 2016


I said that of the billions of humans that populate this planet, not all are meant for greatness. If everybody thought they could be somebody more than what they really are, then nobody would be here to live an ordinary existence.

People find my unpopular opinion rather... Unpopular.

What is wrong with an ordinary existence? Have you ever asked yourself why you want to be extraordinary and not just ordinary? What made you into this egotistical bastard that could only live with perfection, that could feel a slight touch of happiness only through your achievements-- GREAT achievements? Why do you have to be better than everybody else.

The real question to be asked is this: when we attain greatness, who benefits and profits the most?

Ourselves, of course!

Just joking. You didn't think I'd actually believe that.

Let me clarify what I mean by greatness. It is wealth, influence and material success. This definition is largely influenced by the fact that I am an Asian raised by Asian parents in an Asian country where Asian relatives constantly reinforce the notion that material wealth = greatness = happiness. I have but one thing to say to that: fuck all of you. In a more civil manner, I suppose I should calmly tell you that I disagree with your rigid way of life, but why would I? I'd be met with a slam on the table, a slap on the face and some old geezer angering himself into a stroke.

About who would benefit most from our greatness: Family and Capitalism.

Family because our wealth is their source of luxury. Capitalism because it has successfully enslaved another once innocent human being into ensuring its never-ending regime of exploitation. Greatness as an achievement now means that we are not the exploited slave but the slave in a suit that exploits those who are naked.

As I said, my unpopular opinion is unpopular.

Upon graduation, my family expects me to earn as much as my great father does. Well, wouldn't it be a lovely occasion to be disowned in three years time when I thank them for the money splurged on my education but I really just want to be an ice-cream peddler.

Friday, 11 November 2016

Filial Piety

Parents: How is University?

Me: How is University? HOW IS IT? HOW IS IT, YOU ASK? What do you think? Since you are so smart and know what's best for me, surely, you know how things are going, right? Why bother asking, then?

In case you cannot come to a conclusion on your own because you refuse to accept the fact that your child is leading a miserable life weighed down by your expectations and your tendency to romanticise your child's every decision, every second of existence, every achievement and every single failure, then I, as your beloved child, shall let you know directly that I am as unhappy as I can be and I have never known true happiness. If I have, I must have forgotten it and I owe it to your upbringing.

I must thank you for one thing however, and if it is one thing I am grateful to you for, I am thankful that you beat me into playing the piano. When I cannot write with my hands, I can at least play with them.

Right, I was in the middle of explaining to you how University is going for me.

I hate it, as I do with most institutions that are erected solely for profit into tricking foolish pigs like you to fund them while also selling them the soul of your flesh and blood that you love so much in promise of a prosperous future. I say, if you don't believe in Heaven, then don't believe in Universities. Unfortunately for me, you innocent lamb, you believe in Paradise. Do you not see the similarities between those false beliefs?

Yes, this is what I learn in University. You do not like it, you say? Then that makes the three of us, now, doesn't it! But of course, the decision to have myself chained up and chipped away wasn't mine to make, it was yours. You gave me freedom to decide on the place I would be confined to and the methods of repression I find least repulsive, but I would hardly call it freedom, only coercion. Inevitably, there was no other way you were going to be proud of me, if I did not die for you, every single day.

Do not cry for me, but yourself. Your sacrifices are all for naught; your hopes and dreams were used to deceive you.

Parents: Huh? What did you say?

Me: University is fine.

Thursday, 10 November 2016





Tuesday, 8 November 2016

Belong, Not

I come home and step into the society I was born in, grew up with, but they ask me: are you local?

Am I?

Aren't I?

"but you're... Different."

I suppose it can only mean that I come from a plane of existence known only to me, that I have lived 20 long years inside a world of my own creation and have developed into an odd two-legged creature who hasn't a place in what's known as the real world.

But is it necessarily a bad thing? I sit now in a wooden pondok erected out of place on a slope surrounded by oil palms for botanical research purposes, the cacophony of human chatter and shrill laughter behind me, in reality.

There are ducks waddling in the pond after the rain. It is hot again.

Sunday, 6 November 2016

The Troubles of Going to the Cinema with a Friend

There is no need to make plans with somebody else when you want to go to the cinema for a nice movie or two, or three, or four... But, if it's a horror movie, it's only fun when you have somebody to hold on to and pretend-cover your eyes with.

 These days, my bank of movie partners have gone bankrupt, save a person or two, since I am living at the edge of civilization while most of the populace remain to populate the already populated places. With assignment due-dates closer together as we traverse through the semester with dying hearts, no serious persons in this university town would agree to go out for a movie. 90% of them don't even eat properly when slaving off on their essays. Thus is the educational system we are coerced into funding. By the end of my three years, I will except myself to live as usual with my unpopular opinion of the world while I sell ice-cream by the beach in Fiji. But of course, I will more likely be living in a studio somewhere in the Netherlands because my partner doesn't aspire to be an ice-cream seller on the beaches of Fiji. If I can't be an ice-cream seller, then I haven't another clue what I am going to do with my life. Ahh, who would hire me? I am 25% fluent in Japanese, 10% fluent in Dutch and 1% fluent in German. 

Enschuldigung, I have sidetracked. But ah, troubles are still troubles! 

... This entire post has been made irrelevant because my choice of friends are on point. I can always count on my horror movie buddy (yes, I really do have one) to say yes and we'll be on our merry way. Luckily, the distance that separates us isn't as great as I thought it would be and there is a mid-way meeting mall that is convenient for the both of us to commute to. Ah, this must be one of the most gleeful discoveries I have made since coming to Semenyih. 

"Gehen wir ins Kino?"


I need more friends like that in my life. Or at least, I need to be physically closer to the other horror movie buffs I know that willingly flock to the latest screening. 

Thursday, 3 November 2016

Instant Noodles

Marketing schemes are targeted towards potatoes like me. I deliberated between a pack of RM5 noodles and a pack that costed twice as much, plus a few cents. Sesame oil, ooooh!

They smell the same and taste quite alike: instant cancer.

There, I have splurged unnecessarily on an expensive pack of instant cancer when I could have bought 10 such little plastic sacks of the same disease. I try not to buy them at all in an effort to lead a healthier lifestyle, but as you know, I am trying to die. It doesn't seem to work though, dying. Ah, death is as equally difficult as life! Both of them despise me and I am accepted by neither, but rejected by either.

Anyway, my longevity has begun to annoy me. What, long-life? I am only 20? That may be so but I have had enough of functioning as a material subject and not being alive. I breathe, my heart beats, blood still flows and I am warm-- yes, yes, those are signs of being alive but it is automatic and I cannot control it. Well, I may be able to hold my breath for a minute or so before my body starts gasping for air on its own selfish account. I suppose I am just as selfish as my body is, and that, we cannot accept.

If I keep on eating instant noodles everyday, which I will not because they are disgusting and taste like factories, salt and wax, I might eventually have to suffer an insufferable hospitalization and beg for somebody else's kidney. Nah, I don't want that. By the time I've eaten enough instant cancer, I'd be 35 with a career and could actually try living, in my spare time.

Occasionally, I enjoy myself and I see how marvelous it is to be alive and well! Ho... Well...? Alive, but well? That is relative. We shall leave that for some other entry. For now, just buy the cheapest noodles stacked on the shelves because they are noting but cancer in cheap wraps of ideology.

Saturday, 5 March 2016

Training: Thinking in Japanese




One small step at a time towards becoming a polyglot someday. One day, maybe: definitely maybe. 

Tuesday, 1 March 2016

Waiting, Let the Time Pass

When I was young, I told myself that when I get older, I'll have more freedom.

19 years later, in a foreign country, a city in which only those who grew up here could learn to love all its grey; alone, isolated-- my idea of being free? "more freedom" I thought. I laugh now, because freedom, there is none, and more of it, where will more come from when there is none?

Kafka's ape. He understood more than we did, do, and ever will, that freedom is nothing but a thought that takes shape in our wistful minds, a result of our borderlessly trapped lives. A way out, that is it, that is the only way. A way out, an escape, to escape. I've been pushing through doors and doors and doors, exiting, escaping, looking for a way out. Out, out, out... It is endless. Only in my mind do I see a way out, and when I step through the light-laden door, I find myself back on the other side, facing again, myself and my uncertainties. And so I cry while stuffing cheap Mr Kipling lemon swirls through my trembling lips.

When I get older, it'll get better, right?

I looked forward to growing out of my restraints and I am still waiting for the day I'm truly unbound. However, I fear that the day may only come when I breathe my last and understand that my whole life, I've been chasing for nothing but the end-- the end that I could have had at any point in life, so long as I wasn't afraid of a little pain, a little suffering.

She looked me in the eye and told me nothing is worth throwing away my life for, but I wondered, silently, why didn't she have children of her own?

At times like this, I wonder why people should get offended when one chooses to leave life. Who has the right to say that we should enjoy living, the gift called life? It is marvelous, miraculous, appreciate it! But when there is so much to be grateful for, so little to live for and no will at all to carry on, how do I go about enjoying it?

I spend days bright and dark alike under the duvet, waiting for time to pass because there is nothing else I want to do. Positive motivational speeches won't work anymore at this stage. Nothing, I think, would rekindle the life in me.

The future I wanted, I'll bid it farewell. As for the future we are planning for, I might have to abandon it as well. Though I regret having you, because you are just that one reason I couldn't bear to leave just yet.

Condemn me. Condemn me. Condemn me!

Tuesday, 2 February 2016


I suppose you’ll have to see to know.

Now, describe to me the physique of YOUR perfect lover, a body which you may desire and never tire of. Can you do it? That one being of your own faction of imagination which you could love. Perhaps we have grown out of this senselessness, or maybe we are just sensitive beings.

If the day comes that I meet the encapsulation of my perception of beauty, I would not even recognise it. And if I did, I would be horrified by it, not gratified. It would appear to me utterly grotesque instead of purely exquisite.

But why?

Because ideals are not meant to be touched and beheld by the worldly senses—they corrupt the glorious perfection that can only exist in the mind. In a transcendent realm that is not known to our inferior existence and that which we may never reach in our disgraced lives, there, is where it should belong. It would take no form and its abstractness, its formlessness would be the reason why it is beautiful. Beauty is horrific in this life as there can be no beauty, only vanity. That is why I fear that I should see the embodiment of my perception of beauty in this life.

I see instead the ugly as the beautiful and behold their spectacular deformations, admire them as they are. A hunched figure, skin clung onto protruding bones, mouth that should have been in the middle and eyes that should have been closer together—I am deeply captivated, my eyes should not avert, my attention is all yours.

Do you understand? There can be no beauty in this life.

Once, I think, through the windows, the light of the ochre evening filtered through and landed on your sleeping face. You were beautiful then and I wondered if I could be wrong.

Sunday, 31 January 2016

Saturday's Plays and Midnight Memories

Plays after plays I see them on stage, while I sit quietly in the audience. My buttocks hurt, the benches aren't cushioned and it is cramped up in this Pit. I smell the woman next to me, she is wearing black. We're in a vault, the trains running above us. The spotlight bounces off of her face and I wonder if one day the ceiling would give way and the train would slip through the cracks. The stage is small, very small. I suppose I wouldn't pay to be here though it isn't half bad. A place that catches one's attention, yes, underneath the Underground, but the plays... Maybe I'd just explore the bar next time, with him. I didn't pay today, no, I was invited by my flatmates, extra tickets because a friend bailed: hoes before bros. But I don't know him.

On going on night walks through this city I know not well enough to describe: The bridges, so many to choose from, all within a walking range from where I am and will be for a few months more. With who, that is the question? But it is out of the question. In the night when the wind blows, only behind doors will I feel satisfied. Those strolls that I have taken after dark with another I know not well enough to speak of, they still bother me. The possibilities that they lay bear before me-- endless. How many days and how many nights and how many of them could there be if-- only if. I don't suppose I'll ever forget a name like that. I still buy grapes every time I visit the supermarket.


I listen to Jay more and more these days, though I replay the same old songs that I loved and love. Should I venture more into the world of Mandarin pop? There certainly is no harm in doing so as my mind is already as corrupted as the regrets that inspire their work. Maybe I'm just afraid of finding disappointment in that world.

The emotions are strong this evening. I look at the bus ticket that has been pinned up since Monday and the crooked crosses marking down the days to the Friday I would leave this town until the next Monday morning. I'd say I'm going home but home is far away but it feels like home to me and I feel at home: I know the smell, I love its scent and I love the people there who trust me with their keys, dog and son.

0004: "Do you want Domino's?"

Supper. It reminds me of my nights in Malaysia, the months I refused to go home because of sheer stubbornness and pride. Arabic food, Mamak food and that one unfortunate time at that Korean bar with alcoholics who wanted to play a drinking game. My African brother needs to join me in this part of the world.

0025: There is no reply.

Off, off, I go. Glittery eyes, but puffy.

Friday, 29 January 2016


Sunday: To wake up free but to go to bed enslaved by the remembrance of responsibility.

Monday: Tom. 

Tuesday: At first there were many... Now, we are with six. Who to enter the oral examinations with? 

Wednesday: To not leave the flat, pretend to be busy-- do assigned readings; distraction as guide. 

Thursday: To see her hair. 

Friday: DR's head is always so shiny. 

Saturday: I'm a little piece of shit. 

maandag: Winkelen of niet? 

dinsdag: Beetje Japanse. 

woensdag: Ik heb tijd... 

donderdag: Haar haar is heel leuk. 

vrijdag: Ik heb niet lekker geslapen.

zaterdag: Met Jor? Maar hij werk of niet?

zondag: Opa en Oma en soep.








Wednesday, 13 January 2016

On Salty Dessert, a Glimpse at University Life, Destroyed Bread and Other Irrelevant Lines

Did you think that I'd forget you? Of course not. I rarely forget those I love, or who have loved. Neglect them, I do, but not forget; no, never. And thus I am back here, with you, you that never deserts me. Today, I bought some salted caramel ice-cream because I've stopped resisting temptations. Every now and then, I still do, only rarely. If I had the self-discipline that I claim to have, I wouldn't be seeing you right now and you wouldn't be seeing me.

What have I come to discuss today? As always, my stream of consciousness is a stream that never lets me go against it, forever associating this with the next and the previous with similitudes-- ah! Het regent. This is irrelevant.

 It is awfully quiet at Moonraker this evening, I only hear the loud shouts of one woman and it only lasted a second. Next, I hear the wind, and-- what is that? That incessant noiseless noise. It is the wind? Is it the wind? Is it? It is? It is.

University education is a disappointment. I'm not saying this because I think that I'm better or smarter than everyone else, but because I simply do not enjoy it. I love my course: I love what I learn and I love learning what I learn but how I learn it is not how I want to learn it and how I want to learn it is not how they say I should learn it because I have to think like them even though they say not to think exactly like them but think like them anyway because that's the way things are. To be original you first have to be unoriginal-- there is no originality here, because we're scholars, not artists! Everyone is always asking us for citations and I really really really really just want to... Bloody hell, if God was the word, then can I just list God in my bibliography?  AND DID ANYBODY ASK GOD FOR A CITATION!? I THINK NOT!

I am 19, I write like I'm 6 and act like a 4-year-old.

Grammar and syntax are irrelevant after learning much about language in time and language itself. I start to find bad English interesting instead of thinking of them as headaches, though reading such works do give me headaches, I have to admit.

The only course I am serious about is my Japanese, and of course I treat my Dutch lesson on Duolingo with utmost seriousness as well. You know, I have a three-hour examination tomorrow that I've had a month to prepare for but I've only just started leafing through the cheap photocopied and plastic bound course pack an hour ago. Barely an hour later I am here blogging. I should be studying. On a page on the bed, "Saussure's Theory of Language". There are some bits and pieces that still cling to my memory from three months ago.

They know that some people like salt with their dessert. The other day, I sprinkled some salt onto my store-bought Tiramisu that shocked the folks I was having dinner with. ''Huh? Zout?" they said. The meal went on as usual and I ate in silence-- I'd accidentally poured in too much salt and it hurt, but I wasn't about to tell them I didn't enjoy it! The person next to me poured even more salt on his ice-cream; oops.

Someone destroyed my bread, the bread that Tom made, the bread that I hugged for 8 hours in my canvas bag, the bread that I thought would get me through the week, the bread that has dried at the sides, the bread that is now destroyed.

Is this the reason why nobody visits me, here, because my entries are unnecessarily long? What does this big body of text hold, exactly? Nothing relevant, nothing at all, and even the style... There is no style, or is there? Could you tell from my words that I am me and not you and not the other? How do you know that I am me and not another? The spaces between my words, gaps? The silence and what's not been uttered but only implied? But what can you infer from anything at all, if I do mean something at all? It is all quite pointless, really. I sign my work, that is my mistake. You wouldn't have to know that it is me because you expect that it is me. But then again, I could also be someone else, using this name only. What's in a name?

I use a swimming cap as a shower cap and it is blue.

I use a cup in the shape of a milk bottle complete with a rubber nipple but the body is of ceramic and it has a handle for me to hold.

I have a year planner on my notice board and I use it as a calendar and a calendar only with no plans marked, though I have tried.

I have a shelf full of books but the books I don't use as books but as dust collectors.

I'm in the home of Fish and Chips but I think the Australians make them better and the Dutch Kibbeling is a thousand times more Godlike.

I want fried chicken but there's Nando's in the fridge because Brits are crazy about Nando's for whatever the fuck reason I don't know.

It is not snowing, but my dandruff makes up for the lack of white falling from above.

Enough with the Is I say, they are starting to bore me.

Have you come this far, just to groan and exit this page? At least say goodbye.

Hair is falling, hair is falling!

Red is fading, red is fading!

Erase not what brought us where we have come.